


Black Hills Gold

by azephirin



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bar, Butch/Femme, Comment Fic, Cunnilingus, F/F, Femslash, First Time, New York, Porn Battle, Reunions, Workplace, Workplace Sex, girl!Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-13
Updated: 2010-02-13
Packaged: 2017-10-07 05:51:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/62045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/azephirin/pseuds/azephirin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>You think you get another chance after you didn't take what was on offer the first time?</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	Black Hills Gold

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [](http://oxoniensis.livejournal.com/profile)[**oxoniensis**](http://oxoniensis.livejournal.com/)'s Porn Battle; I posted an abridged version [here](http://oxoniensis.livejournal.com/394717.html?thread=22341597#t22341597), but the full version is below.

The after-work crowd's dying down, fading into a rainy Wednesday night that promises to be slow. With nothing better to do, Jo engages in some housekeeping: arranging, refilling, discreetly cleaning. They'll be able to close early at this rate. Maybe she'll even get home before four, manage to drag herself out of bed before noon tomorrow and get some work done on the string of suicides in Williamsburg. Part of her doesn't have a whole lot of use for dead hipsters—they stare at her ass just like the ad execs, but don't tip nearly as well—but most of her believes, like her parents taught her, that one life is as good as another.

The matched set of lawyers at the far end orders another round, and she's just finished getting it to them when an unexpected but ever-familiar voice says from a few feet away, "Well, I wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes."

Jo spins around in disbelief.

Even in the low light, Dinah Winchester's hair gleams like Black Hills gold, and she's leaning on the bar in her leather jacket and tight T-shirt like she belongs here just as much as the men in their suits do.

"What the hell are you doing here?" is, regrettably, what first comes out of Jo's mouth.

"Now that's a hell of a greeting for an old friend. Hipster suicides. You serve anything here besides cosmos and vodka tonics?"

With as much disdain as she can muster, Jo drops a bottle of Bud Light in front of Dinah. She assumes Dinah can open it herself.

"Not even Sam Adams?" Dinah says plaintively.

Jo can't control the thumping of her heart, but she can control the elevation of her eyebrow and the cool timbre of her voice. "Should've asked for that in the first place."

Dinah pushes the Bud Light towards Jo and grins. "I'm asking now," she says, drawing what Jo knows is not an idle circle on the wood with one fingertip.

Green eyes, full lips, strong hands, and Jo thinks they're not just discussing beer anymore. She puts the Bud Light back in the cooler and says, "You think you get another chance after you didn't take what was on offer the first time?"

Dinah reaches across the bar to trace a line down Jo's forearm. "I think I'm an idiot," she says, "and I'll take whatever you want to give me."

Jo pulls away, reaches for a glass, and puts a pint of Dogfish Head in front of Dinah. "Bars in the city close at four. You'll have to wait until I'm off."

Dinah covers Jo's hand with hers, then lifts it to kiss the middle knuckle. That, and Dinah's blazing smile, is the only answer Jo gets.

+||+||+

 

At two thirty, the place is empty except for her and Dinah, and Jo makes an executive decision. She turns off the sign, draws the curtains over the wide front windows, and counts the night's take. She bags it and says to Dinah, "I've got to take this to the bank."

"I'll drive you," Dinah says. "First, though—" She ducks under the snug, and suddenly Jo's pressed against the wall. Dinah's fingers, bare except for that ubiquitous silver ring, brush through her hair as she murmurs, "All night I was sitting here, watching those suits, watching them watch you. Every single one of them wanted you, wanted to touch you and lick you, but they don't get to."

Jo's hands are moving to Dinah's hip, to the back of her neck, even as she's saying, "And you do?"

"You know how to say no, Joanna Beth. And you know I'll stop if you do." Dinah's mouth brushes Jo's throat as she speaks.

"Look at me," Jo says, and Dinah does.

Jo pulls Dinah's head down, and their first kiss is hot and fierce.

Dinah's got one hand buried in Jo's hair while the other finds her breast, her nipple, pushes up Jo's shirt to tease. Meanwhile Dinah's still wearing that stupid jacket, and Jo pushes it off her shoulders. It falls to the floor and Jo scrapes her nails across the hard muscles in Dinah's back and shoulders, rucking up the cloth to put her hands underneath it. She knows that Dinah binds, so she doesn't try for that, just explores the bare skin of back and belly, unbuckles Dinah's belt, but then fumbles on the button fly.

Dinah laughs softly, takes Jo's hands in hers and says, "We'll get there. Just let me do this first."

Then she drops to her knees.

Jo's skirt is short (she's under no illusions about what elicits tips, and it's not merely quick service) and her legs bare (it's cool outside, but always too warm in here). The calluses on Dinah's fingers are just rough enough as she trails them up Jo's thighs, nudging the skirt up and pulling Jo's underwear down. She steps out of them and they disappear somewhere. Dinah presses light kisses to Jo's pubis, flicking out her tongue just enough to tickle. "Smell so good," Dinah says. "Can't wait to taste you."

She exhales, breath hot on Jo's clit, and Jo gasps, "So do it."

Dinah does.

Jo realizes that she doesn't care whether Dinah's done this to every woman from coast to coast, because, God, she's good at it. Not too hard, but not too soft either—just enough that Jo can feel the insistent warmth of Dinah's tongue making spirals around the hard nub of her clit. Dinah moves her thighs a little farther apart, and Jo's knees almost give out when two sure fingers curve inside her. Dinah moves them in and out, slowly, to the same maddening rhythm she's using on Jo's clit, and Jo shudders and moans, "Please," before she can stop herself.

Dinah pulls back to kiss the inside of one thigh and say, "Don't worry, baby, I'll get you there."

Jo has to pull herself together and grit her teeth just to be able to get out, "Don't—God!—call me baby."

"Sure, sweetheart," Dinah says, and sucks Jo's clit until she screams.

Then she pulls back and licks her lips.

Jo twists her hands in Dinah's hair and gasps, "I hate you so fucking much."

Dinah just rubs her lightly with her thumb until Jo's shaking, breath short, hips stuttering back and forth begging for touch. "Your mouth," she finally manages. "I want your mouth."

"All you had to do was ask." She finds Jo's clit again unhesitatingly, just enough pressure, tongue moving side to side until Jo's crying out and coming, once and then twice, a third time that leaves her limp, spent, upright only by grace of the wall and Dinah's hands.

There's a period of a few seconds when she doesn't move, can't—then she pulls Dinah to her feet and sucks Dinah's second and third fingers into her mouth. Jo licks the taste of herself from them slowly, deliberately, outlining the shape of them as she holds Dinah's gaze. Jo watches Dinah's eyes go wide and dark; then she leans forward to settle her arms around Dinah's shoulders, kiss her, kiss her again to make the point, and says, "Why don't you take me home so that I can do that to you."

"I would like that," Dinah says, low. "I would really, really like that."

**Author's Note:**

> I am aware that, had Dean been a girl, the name would more likely have been Deanna, but I really, really don't like that name. (Apologies to any Deannas who may be reading this.)


End file.
